Lady of The Falcons
by The Sunday Girl
Summary: In 1521, young Catherine 'Cat' Percy, daughter of the duke of Northumberland, comes to court and catches the eye of George Boleyn. As their romance deepens, the Boleyn family begin their rise into power, unknowing of the devastating fall that awaits.
1. The First Meet

**A/N: Hello everyone! This just a bit of 'background' on this story before I actually start. Basically, I watched The Other Boleyn Girl (2008, with Natalie Portman/Scarlett Johansson/Eric Bana) a few nights ago, and was heartbroken when George Boleyn died. It was so sad that such a innocent man died a supposed traitor, not to mention having to dispose of Anne's dead baby and having to marry Jane Parker. The morning after, I was thinking about how unhappy George seemed with Jane and what it might have been if he'd had a happy marriage with someone he cared for, and how this could have affected his end. Then I thought about the short-lived marriage of Anne to Henry Percy, which I'm interested in as well, and what it might have been like to watch the events of their little affair plot out. I knew that the Percys were quite an important and well-to-do family (Thomas Boleyn, in the movie, says he is a 'senior noble') and then it just came to me. **

**So this is the story of George Boleyn and a Percy girl he falls in love with. Everyone else's lives and the events (most of them...) stay on track. I researched the sisters of Henry Percy but they didn't suit my plan as much as I wanted, so I've wiped out Margaret and Maud Percy and replaced them with Elizabeth (Libby, born 1499, a year after Henry Percy Sr. and Lady Catherine Spencer wed) and Catherine (Cat, born 1504 and twins with Thomas). Henry is still born in 1502, Thomas is born in 1504 still (twins with my fictional Catherine) and Ingelram in 1506 like normal. Catherine/Cat is my heroine. **

**I hope this isn't too confusing. This isn't the most busy chapter but it lays the foundations down and you meet the most important characters. In the next chapter, we'll skip two years to December 1521, when Cat enters court. I do hope you like it and would adore it if you reviewed with your thoughts and tips. OK, OK, I'll stop rambling - here you go!**

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><p><strong>I - The First Meet<strong>

**Winter 1519, Alnwick Castle, Northumberland, England.**

'Girls, today the Boleyns will visit us, and I expect you both to be on your very best behaviour.'

'As ever!' I giggle mischievously, swapping grins with my sister Elizabeth.

'I'm serious, Catherine.' snaps our mother, standing before us with quite a severe look on her face. 'Both of you will be stood outside of the castle prompt at noon in your best gowns and pearls. You will smile and curtsy for Sir Thomas and Lady Elizabeth and be welcoming to whoever they bring with them, and when - _if _- they talk to you, you will be polite and courteous. You are representing us and any fault will be against the family name.'

'The Boleyns?' asks Elizabeth. 'I've never heard of them.'

Mother stiffens. 'They are… _minor _nobles. But Sir Thomas is a good friend of the King and I expect they shall be elevated higher into favour within no time.' She takes a step closer to me. 'Now, Catherine, Sir Thomas and Lady Elizabeth have a son, George,' she takes my hands. 'of your age. From reports, he is good-looking and kind-'

'I didn't know that you considered kindness and good looks as an advantage in matches as well as land and wealth.' I retort as innocently as I can.

She steps back and releases my hands as if I had just revealed I had a disease. 'Catherine, you are fifteen, a fully eligible age to wed. Girls age twelve and thirteen marry everyday; you should be grateful your father has waited so long. Elizabeth would be married by now also if she had the heart to accept a proposal.' it's Libby's turn to be glared at. My elder sister of five years cowers under our mother's sharp look; I can't blame her for refusing that Cavendish, though - he was twenty years her senior, with grey hairs and a beard!

'You will not refuse what will be arranged for you.' Mother continues. 'You will put on your best dress and have the maid arrange your gable hood and you will step outside and _behave_. No exceptions.' with that, she storms out of the room, her head held high.

Libby and I share a long look.

'The Boleyns, eh?' she says. 'Fancy being a Boleyn girl, Cat?'

I shrug. 'It depends on whether this 'George' is attractive.'

'Mother says he is.'

'Yes, _Mother_.'

She laughs. 'You can't remain unwedded forever. Eventually, you'll have to be married.'

'Yes, yes,' I say, crossing over to the window, the diamonds of glass dusted in frost. 'and I suppose I want to. Someone to cuddle when it's cold, someone to trust completely. I just want to know the man before we wed, that's all. It'd make things much more easier.'

'I know, I know.' my sister comforts me, coming to sit beside me on the window pane. 'But such things aren't done. We have to do what we are told. It is God's will.'

I lean my head on the cold glass. 'I'm afraid, dear Libby, that God's will is not mine.'

·*·

We retreat to our bedchamber within the hour. Our maids rush in to change our dresses and lace up our bodices of matching violet silk, and then we hear it. The shrill neigh of a horse has me and Libby rushing to the window. Henry Riddingford, chief of our family's household, hops off his stallion. 'The Boleyns!' he cries. A flurry of excitement and anxiety sounds from the staff in the courtyard and the flags with our family crest are hoisted up on poles for all to see. The breeze ripples the fine material.

We allow our maids to finish their work and I run down the stairs, stopping only when Libby catches my wrist and smoothes out her skirt. We walk dignified into the courtyard, towards Father and Mother and our brothers Henry, Thomas and Ingelram. 'At long last! They have arrived!' Mother hisses at us and motions for us to step into our places. As we do so, Libby secretly squeezes my palm.

I see the Boleyn flag long before I see the Boleyns themselves. Sir Thomas trots in on his horse, wearing red and blue brocade with heavily slashed sleeves, with his lips relaxed into a friendly smile. 'Lord Henry!' he greets, striding forward to shake Father's hand.

'Sir Thomas, my pleasure,' Father answers.

A woman of graceful beauty wearing a riding habit of grey approaches my parents. 'My wife, Lady Elizabeth,' Sir Thomas introduces. Lady Elizabeth allows Father to kiss her palm and nods in recognition towards Mother.

'My wife, Lady Catherine.'

Stepping into line like we Percys, the Boleyn children mirror us. Sir Thomas and Lady Elizabeth's two daughters stand opposite Libby and I, wearing habits trimmed in stole, though not as fine as our gowns which Mother said was to be expected. One is a fair with a smooth complexion, and the other dark in both hair and eyes. She reminds me of a raven. Both drop respectful curtsies for Mother and Father. 'My daughters, Mary and Anne.' Sir Thomas gestures first to the blonde, Mary, and then the dark one, Anne.

Then their brother steps into line. He's tall, broad-shouldered and well-built, but then again I've never seen a man who isn't. He has a wavy mop of dark brown hair, gentle but proud eyes the colour of caramel, and dons a grey velvet doublet and hat, with a cloak trimmed in stole draped around his shoulders. Under the rounded brim of his flat hat, I feel his eyes inspecting my sister and I, and I have to vigorously fight back a blush.

'George, my son and heir.' Sir Thomas introduces.

Father steps towards us Percy children. 'Henry, Thomas and Ingelram, my sons,' he pauses for effect as the Boleyns take in the spectacle of my three dear brothers - two blonde and blue-eyed like Libby and Mother, and then Thomas, dark-haired and green-eyed like me and Father - and then, like hawks viewing all the possible prey in the forest, turn to the Percy girls. 'Elizabeth and Catherine, my daughters.' Father finishes.

Libby and I curtsy. 'It is a pleasure to meet you,' we chorus as instructed, so both Mother and Lady Elizabeth smile. Mary flashes us both warm looks, but dark Anne keeps her eyes on Henry, watching him twitch his hat brim. A playful quip lodges itself in my throat. _Looks like a Boleyn girl has eyes for a Percy. She's got high hopes! _I think.

'Shall we go to the hall for a goblet of ale?' Father offers, and the senior Boleyns nod eagerly and follow our parents into our home like pups pleading for bones. Thomas and Ingelram, looking too big for their doublets, follow and Henry gestures for George Boleyn to come. Kind Henry, attempting to break the ice. How I love him!

'Shall we?' says Libby, acting as the perfect hostess. The Boleyn girls scurry by our side into the hall. Our parents are in conversation by the fire and the boys opposite them, by the windows. Every person cups goblets of hot ale, avoiding sipping them in fear of a burnt tongue. Set on a table in the centre is a bowl of sweetmeats, the sugar dusting glinting in the candlelight. I wave at my brothers with their new friend and take a cup of ale for myself, brushing back a curl of my dark hair escaping from under the veil of my gable hood.

'Come sisters!' commands Thomas.

'_Come sisters!_' I imitate, walking over to them and kissing my twin's cheek affectionately. 'Come sisters indeed! Anyone would think you're the heir and not darling Harry.'

'That's how it is for now…' Thomas cracks a grin and I swat at his shoulder. 'You wouldn't dare harm our Harry. He's too precious.' I tease.

'Would I?' Thomas raises an eyebrow.

'Never!' I swear. 'Not as long as you live, Thomas Percy.'

The boys laugh and Thomas goes on the boast of his many hunting triumphs, and Mary embarrasses her brother George with a childhood memory of some sort. I laugh and kid them I'm listening, but I can't tear my eyes from the shadows of our group, where Henry and Anne silently communicate, their cheeks russet. When she sees me watching, Anne stops and peers into her ale.

Then I myself turn away, and catch George's eye. But he doesn't look away or cower into his goblet; no, the only Boleyn boy holds my gaze, as if working me out. What's there to work out? I'm just the other Percy girl, frequently being compared to my blonde, graceful sister, frequently chided for daydreaming and frequently looking odd in gowns too big or too grand. What could any man possibly want to look at me for?

George looks a little longer and then tunes into Ingelram ranting about scholars, allowing me to retreat to the table of sweetmeats, where I can blush childishly in the comfort of warm candlelight and tell myself that someone looked at me, and me alone, without looking at Libby first.


	2. Welcome to Court

**A/N: The next installment! This is where the romance begins. It's 1521, a week before Christmas, and the Percy girls have come to Court. I hope you enjoy it, although it is longer than the last chapter. Happy reading!**

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><p><strong>II - Welcome to Court.<strong>

**December 1521, Hampton Court Palace, London, England.**

I've always dreamt of going to Court. Ever since I was a child, I'd fantasized of it; all the glamorous ladies, gallant knights, witty seductresses, playful poets; the shimmer of satin, the clink of gold, the softness of velvet; the endless gossip and lively dancing and the best foods. I knew that one day I would leave Alnwick for Court, being the daughter of the Duke of Northumberland, and now the day had come, it seemed to live up to my expectations.

'When will we arrive?' I nag Libby, who lounges on her side of the seat in the litter, wrapped in her black cloak with her eyes closed. 'It can't take much longer to get to London!'

She opens one eye. 'Northumberland is a great distance from London, Cat,' she says.

'We've been sat in this litter for nearly three hours!' I exclaim.

She raises an eyebrow as if to say _don't I know it! _and then shuts the open eye. Yawning, she presses her cloak to her cheek. 'I'm so tired,' she murmurs.

'Sleep now then,' I advise. 'so when we arrive we can meet the Queen and unpack, and then eat - our first banquet! Harry said they serve everything from peacock to swan, tarts, castles moulded out of marzipan, pears coloured with blue mulberries-'

'Stop, stop!' Libby interrupts with a smile. 'We'll be there soon, Cat. You should rest - it'll empty your stomach enough to fit in all the food you intend to stuff yourself with.'

I sit back and warm my hands. It's a bitter December and the fields are coated with slush and the roads iced over. 'Sleep!' my elder sister instructs.

'Okay, okay, Libby,' I agree, resting my heavy eyelids. 'But we better arrive soon or else-'

'Sleep!'

.*.

'Lady Elizabeth?' a voice calls. 'Lady Catherine?'

My eyes open in a flash. A footman clad in our family livery is stood by the litter door, peering in at us. 'You have arrived at Hampton Court Palace, my ladies.' he informs us, swinging open the little door and beckoning for another man in the Percy colours to help us out.

I exchange a gleeful grin with my sister and then hop out of the litter, brushing past the second footman's helping hand. Before my eyes stands a large palace of red brick, spotted with glass windows that glint in the white winter sunlight. Servants in jerkins sewn with the King's cipher run around, shouting to one another and loading baggage from litters. Beyond, I can hear chatter and the soothing sound of lutes. I take a long breath of air tinged with salt from the River Thames and turn on my heel to look at Libby, who looks as excited as I am.

'The Percy girls?' someone shouts. We're approached by a blonde woman about the same age as Libby, wearing a black gown with slashed sleeves and wide skirts, and a broad smile.

'Yes.' I nod.

'Lady Mary Carey nee Boleyn,' the blonde woman introduces herself. 'We've met before a year or two ago, when my family came to your home of Alnwick. I've been sent by the Queen to retrieve you and bring you both to her chambers.'

'A pleasure to meet you Lady Carey,' says Libby. 'I am Elizabeth Percy and this is my sister Catherine.'

'Cat.' I add. 'You can call me Cat, and my sister Libby.'

Mary's smile wavers and her eyes widen and I wonder if I've said too much and been too friendly. But then Mary Carey grins. 'Sorry, I'm not used to such familiarities. Everyone here is usually so _formal_. But yes, I'd love to call you Cat and Libby, and you to call me Mary.' Both of us Percy girls nod along and follow our new friend past the servants and into the palace.

The corridors are full of life. Musicians crowd along the wall strumming their instruments and attracting attention with their ditties, ladies giggle behind their handkerchiefs and cheer for their sweethearts around gambling tables, and skinny hounds and slinky cats roam. Mary leads us past the distractions and down a sombre corridor and around a bend, and there is the Queen's apartments. It is an open space, with white tapestries sewn with black thread on all the walls but one, which hangs a embroidered pomegranate on blue background. Queen Katherine, Infanta Catalina of Aragon and Castile, sits on a throne of intensely carved wood, dressed regally in black satin with a gold kirtle.

'Your Majesty,' says Mary with a deep respectful curtsy. 'Lady Elizabeth and Lady Catherine Percy have arrived.'

'Oh yes,' the Queen says in her strongly Spanish-sounding English. 'My new Ladies-in-Waiting.'

Libby and I scurry in and curtsy low for our Queen. 'The Percy sisters,' Queen Katherine says, allowing us to rise to full height. 'Welcome to Court.'

'Thank you, Your Majesty,' we chorus. 'We look forward to serving you.'

She smiles kindly, and her cheeks wrinkle. Her age shows, but she does not look weary of it. At thirty-six, a woman past her prime, her hair still shines reddish and her skin is clear. 'I am pleased that your mother has spared you, as by all accounts you are good needlewomen and musicians. I like nothing more than entertainment in my chambers.' she praises us. I snuffle a snort; I'm useless with a lute and struggle creating a beat with a tambourine. I'm fair good with a needle, but one glance at the tapestries on the walls and my heart sinks.

'We are thrilled to be serving such a beautiful and kind Queen,' says Libby with her irresistible charm. Queen Katherine's eyes glimmer at the compliment.

'You may leave me and unpack your belongings, ladies.' the Queen dismisses us, nodding to Mary to lead the way to our bedchamber. We curtsy and follow Mary through a door and around the corner to the shared chambers of the Queen's ladies.

'It's a little small, smaller than what you're used to, no doubt.' Mary informs her, bustling through one door of the three. Inside are four small beds, a fireplace and a set of shelves full of ornaments, hair ribbons, pieces of paper, ink and quills and other objects.

'It's very homey,' I comment.

'Yes, indeed.' Mary agrees. 'I sleep here [she motions to the bed on the right closest to the door] and Mary Talbot on the one opposite. You know Mary, if I'm right?'

'How could we not? She's been betrothed to our brother Henry for five years.' I say.

'I'm glad your acquainted - it saves me an awkward task. We've cleared two shelves for you to put your things on, and you also both have a trunk under your beds for clothing. A postman comes everyday with letters usually at about nine o'clock in the morning. We're ordered up at six and breakfast is at eight, after matins. We lunch at one o'clock and dine at five. Our curfew is eleven thirty sharp; the Queen's senior ladies monitor all the main rooms-' she checks no one is close to the door and leans towards us. 'unless you take the steps down the corridor, which the chambermaids use when they come to clean our chambers. Just make sure you aren't caught by anyone in the room next to ours, as they are all spiteful goats!'

I chuckle. 'You two need to unpack quickly, though, as I suspect the banquet will commence soon. You might want to change, too,' she looks at our plain travelling clothes. 'No offence, but it's the first banquet for both of you. You want to make a good impression.'

'Thank you,' says Libby sincerely.

'My pleasure.' Mary leaves us for the main room.

'She seems nice.' my sister says, crossing the room to the bed furthest away, besides Mary Talbot's. I go to mine next to Mary's, and flop down on the sheets. My body yearns for sleep, but my mind races and my heart thumps at the prospect of entering the banquet room. I want to make a good impression, my new friend is right. I want everyone to try and guess who I am - I'll sit far away from Thomas, so they won't even know we're twins.

'Yes, she is.' I reply, marvelling at my little plan. I love Court even before I've danced a pavane or worn a masque mask or tasted any of the delicacies. This is where I belong.

.*.

At five sharp, Libby and I walk into the banquet hall with Mary Carey. Courtiers swarm all around us, and it's hard not smile. The musicians are discussing which piece to play next, and their dancers stand in clumps gossiping and cupping goblets of wine. In the very darkest corner cowers a woman with a pinched mouth, pointed nose and wide-set eyes, which dart about taking every little detail in.

'Jane Parker.' says Mary scornfully. 'The most ambitious little madam at Court. She likes to sit in corners and watch. Those she has a special interest in she sometimes follows or asks around, digging information. It's quite creepy, more the activity of a dirty man than a woman of stock distantly related to the King himself.'

We drink up her words, deciding who to befriend and who not to. Mary contributes, giving us titbits about the worst of the crop, from sneaks to liars to conmen, and the women we don't want to meddle with and the men never to be alone with. The more I listen, the more dangerous Court becomes. But just as we reach the topic of Sir John Seymour's apparent affair with his daughter-in-law, we come across a face I remember.

'George?' Mary prods on his puffed green brocade sleeve. He spins around. The brown waves, eyes like pools of butterscotch and broad shoulders bring the memory back. This is Mother's choice for me two years before - George Boleyn.

'I knew it was you.' Mary says. 'I could tell by the sleeves. You seem to have a taste for green brocade.'

'It's my colour!' George argues, turning to Libby and I. 'And who are these two lovely ladies?'

I blush. 'Lady Elizabeth and Lady Catherine Percy,' Mary introduces us. 'Daughters of the Duke of Northumberland and sisters of your friend Henry.'

'It's wonderful to meet you, Lady Elizabeth and Lady Catherine.' George says.

'Turning on the old charm…' sighs Mary. 'George Boleyn, my brother.'

George takes Libby's palm first and kisses it lightly. The Boleyn boy looks at me next, but slower. I too twitch my eyes to see what he is looking at. I'm wearing a new gown of sea blue with silver-white embroidery around the neck and hem, which admittedly makes my eyes appear greener and presses my breasts into two plump curves of flesh at the neck. My dark hair is free around my shoulder in waves, held back from my forehead by a half-moon crescent of white silk edged in pearls; a new headdress fashionable in France they call the 'French Hood'.

When he presses his lips to my palm, he lets them linger for a few moments. Then, as Mary opens her lips to say something, the musicians jump into a upbeat tune that wraps itself around my toes and makes them want to tap. 'Oh, I do love this dance!' exclaims George. His beautiful eyes meet mine. 'Would you care to dance with me, Lady Catherine?'

I don't have a chance to answer as he sweeps me into his arms and guides me to the floor where the dancers assemble into a circle, holding hands. I link the chain with another lady in red and we begin to skip around in a circle, once, twice, and a third time, before breaking apart and skipping little circles with our partner, clinging to their arms.

'I've never seen you at Court before, Lady Catherine.' George says quietly but close so I can hear.

'I-I only arrived early this afternoon,' I tell him.

He nods. 'And my sister, she has shown you around?'

'Only the Queen's rooms,' I admit. 'Although I suppose tomorrow I shall explore what is to be seen elsewhere - when I am not needed by Her Majesty, of course.'

'Yes, of course. Though, when you do decide to explore the palace, do not hesitate to find me. I've been told I am quite a good chaperone.'

We link ourselves with the others in our dance and start to skip in the larger circle, but my head echoes George's words. Was he suggesting a meeting between us? Or just a friendly offer of assistance? I slide my eyes in his direction and my heart thumps when I see he is looking back. We go on dancing, both feet and hearts, to the sound of the music.


	3. Snow Talk

**A/N: Hi! I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoy writing it. I know George sounds OOC but I imagine him more like Jim Sturgess's George from The Other Boleyn Girl rather than Padraic Delaney's from this show. Plus I don't believe George was a rapist or gay. Everyone else is like the show, though maybe Mary B is more TOBG than Tudors. Anyway, here you go. :)**

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><p><strong>III - Snow Talk.<strong>

**Late January 1522, Hampton Court Palace, London, England.**

The twelve days of Christmas were one of the happiest of my life. It was one long extravagant party, and I loved it. The Christmas master of the revels - Sir William Armitage - surely received a large sum, for what else could possibly reward him for all his effort, which paid off hour by hour as we, the awed Court, were entertained by what the man had concocted. In the mornings, we sat, dressed in red, green, pale blue or white as ordered, on the benches normally for jousting, and watched bear-baiting, cocking matches, dog fights, archery, and twice a show of tumblers and fire-eaters. Before lunch, we crowded by the river bank to watch boat races, the boats decked out in chequered satins, their flags fluttering in the sharp winter wind.

The feasts were splendorous; oysters, swans, peacocks, venison, fat turkeys, pheasants, porpoise in mustard sauce, tarts of many different cheeses, jelly fritters, cinnamon custard, currant cake, bread pudding, candied fruits, dough dipped in honey, deliciously sweet wines, and the cakes - oh, how marvellous those cakes were! Out of marzipan - a delicacy new to me - the confectioners had fashioned crowns, birds, and even a miniature Hampton Court, the _le ciel de subtilités, _or the heaven of subtleties as it was christened. The King clapped his hands when he saw it and his eyes shone brighter than the diamonds around the Queen's throat.

All too soon it was over. In my little chest, resting under my bed with the chest containing my clothes, I stashed away a sprig of holly, the hair ribbon braided in my hair as part of my costume for the Christmas Eve masque, the letter from Ingelram, still stuck at Alnwick, telling me and Libby of his Christmas. The only thing I couldn't put inside the chest was how my heart raced when I caught George Boleyn's eye, how my throat went dry when we were briefly partnered during a dance, how I felt like I might be sick with nerves whenever he walked my way, and the regret I throbbed with when he walked past, and another conversation, so vivid in my mind, disintegrated.

I had never felt this way before, and I still haven't. I see him and he sees me when we dance, mostly not with each other, and when we gamble, never against each other, and when he jousts and I sit with my sister on the benches. I keep myself awake at night, thinking whether this is just a childish fancy or even a figment of my imagination. Women are suppose to be slick, cool, quick-witted seductresses who capture men's hearts with their elegance and allure. There is no way I'm one of those. I toss and turn and kick the bed sheets, praying for sleep, begging for sleep, and wishing I wouldn't wake up. That way, I won't have to go on being the stupidly confused little girl I seem to be.

.*.

_Inside the office of Lord Henry Percy Sr., the Duke of Northumberland…_

'…_so you see, Sire, this match could benefit everybody.' _

_Henry Percy Sr. nods. 'Indeed. You've made me quite a promising offer. I want what's best for my girls, as every father does. You understand, of course?'_

'_Of course.' replies his colleague. 'I have daughters myself. I know how hard it is to let go, and I can assure you that my boy will take care of Catherine, great care. He will not forget she is a woman of a great family and not a slut from the whorehouse.' _

_Henry Percy Sr. takes a long sip of ale. 'Aye, she was born and a bred a noblewoman,' he says. 'and one I intend to have her remain all her life. Remember, she is a Percy, and will stay a Percy first and foremost no matter who she weds. She knows not and will not betray her true heritage.' he leans forward close to his companion. 'I trust you know and will respect this?'_

_His companion nods. 'My son will be honoured if you will give your consent to it. Catherine is a great beauty and from what I have heard thrives at Court. Any man would be blessed to have such a woman married to them.' _

_Henry Percy Sr. smiles a little at the deep flattery. 'Rest assured that I shall take this into serious consideration.' he stands and so does his colleague, taking it as a signal to leave. He bobs a bow, and scurries into the darkness, wearing a broad smile and thinking of what he may have just accomplished._

.*.

'Isn't it beautiful outside?' Libby breathes, sat on the window with her legs folded underneath her skirt. I nod from the end of my bed, where I am composing a piece of poetry in honour of Ingelram, which I can send him for his birthday.

'All the branches and little leaves and flowers are dusted with frost and the walkways lined in snow. The icicles are like the diamond drops on our earrings. And when the sun comes out-'

'Are you writing this poem or am I?' I interrupt, and my sister beams at me.

'I'm sorry, it's just so beautiful,' she says. 'At home, the snow always melted into slush three or four days after it fell. It always rained or hailed, too - now look! Neither has happened for well over a week. It's like we're in a completely different world altogether!'

I stand and walk over to her, my new shoes sounding over the floorboards like horseshoes on cobbles, and hand her the paper and pencil. 'What's this for?' she asks.

'For you to write this down.' I explain. 'I think Ingelram will like it more than my drabbles and soppy missing-you's.'

She smiles and picks up the pencil. 'Why don't you go outside?' she suggests. 'You've been sat inside for days now and it'll wreck havoc on your complexion.'

'I've no companion to walk with.'

'Find George.'

I stop and look at her. 'What?' she says innocently. 'I've seen the way you look at him.'

'I've done no such thing!' I say as smoothly and truthfully as I can manage.

She tilts her head. 'I'm your sister, Cat,' she answers simply. 'I see everything. No go - take my fur coat and mittens and find George. I'm sure he'll be more than happy to walk with you.' She jumps to her feet, bundles me in her soft white fur coat and pushes me out of our bedchamber, shutting the door behind me. My hairs prickle as I wander through the Queen's empty presence chamber and into the open corridors.

I make my way into the gardens, a route I took the time to commit to memory. When I turn the last corner towards the gates, I find who my sister told me to. Leaning against the wall, looking unusually bored, and wearing a black cape trimmed in brown fur is George, the Boleyn boy haunting my memory. He rubs his nose and opens his eyes, and when he jerks upright and plasters a little smile on his face, I know he recognises me.

'Hello, you!' he says cheerily.

'H-hello,' I falter. 'I was just on my way to the gardens…'

'Can I escort you?' he asks. 'I've been so bored as of late, and that seems like a good way to fill the time.'

I nod, and he takes my hand and tucks it in the crook of his elbow. We walk out of the gates and into the gardens, which are large and lavish and sprinkled in shimming silver snowflakes. Libby is right, it is beautiful, like a scene from a children's fairytale. George and I slowly walk through the snow, letting our shoes be caked with it, one step at a time.

'What brings you to Court?' George asks politely.

'Oh, well, Mother- I mean, the Duchess - thought it was the right time for me and my sister to come to Court. Sooner rather than later, you do understand?'

He peers at me, eyes narrowed. 'No. Why sooner rather than later?'

'Oh, well,' I say. 'M-the Duchess wants my sister and I married as soon as possible, really. She sees Court as the gateway to marriage proposals. If you arrive sooner, you get the best match.'

George frowns. 'So… you aren't betrothed to someone, like your brother to that Talbot girl?'

I shake my head. 'Mary? No, no, we don't matter as much as Henry, he being the heir. Poor Harry, he doesn't want to marry her at all.'

'Is she that bad?'

'Well, she's strict, a sucker for etiquette, neat. Everything must be in its place. She's the ideal Duchess, but not the ideal for Henry. He's dreading his wedding day. Are you betrothed, George?'

He shakes his head. 'Nor my sister Anne. Mary was when we were young to William Carey. She married him two years ago.' he sighs and looks ahead. 'She's milk-and-honey, a real fair beauty. Anne and I are dark horses.'

'Me also.'

We come down a small flight of snow-draped steps towards the large fountain, the water glazed over with a thin sparkling layer of ice. 'Do you have plans for tomorrow?' George asks me abruptly. 'My sister Mary and I were planning to go riding with a few of our other friends, just three or four others.'

I nod perhaps a tad too enthusiastically. He smiles. 'So, meet us by the stables after matins? We can eat late - there's a little tavern in a village we like to ride through. The ale is good and if luck is with us we might be able to get some meat, too.'

'It sounds like a date.'

We head back up the steps after circling the fountain and retrace our steps through the snow. George and I stroll back through the gates, brushing the snowflakes from our hair, and into the warmth. He leaves me by the Queen's presence chambers, where her ladies have started to gather so they can change gowns.

'Until tomorrow, I guess.' George says.

'Yes, until tomorrow.'

We go out separate ways, but the heat of his arm linked with mine stays imprinted on Libby's coat sleeve.


	4. On The Ride

**A/N: I LOVED writing this one (even the ending, which (DON'T PEEK!) is kinda _sad_) and hope you like reading it. Thank you so mcuh to the reviews which brighten my days so much. Please give me your thoughts on this one. Anyway, on with it...**

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><p><strong>IV - On The Ride.<strong>

**Early February 1522, Hampton Court, London, England.**

'Hey! Cat - over here!'

Stood in the glow of the cool ice-blue sky is Mary, in an exquisite pale beige riding habit trimmed in stole, waving her hat in the air. Her golden hair hangs down her back in a chunky braid. She looks well, despite the pouches underneath her eyes. I hadn't seen her at matins, so it seems that she skipped it to organize the horses. At one side is a chestnut mare and on the other is her brother. George, wearing blue riding gear, is brushing the coat of a grey horse I recognise.

'Is that…'

'Yes,' he confirms. 'Henry said you could ride his steed, since he has no intention of riding today. He seemed rather moody…' he trails off, looking to me for an explanation.

'Oh, he went to see F-the Duke late last night.' I say dismissively, stroking the horse's grey neck. 'They probably talked about the nuptials.'

The cool February breeze caress our faces as the Boleyn friends emerge from the palace. Two men walk towards us in their riding clothes, wearing grins, and doffing their caps as they stop before us. 'Good day, my lady,' one, with hair like fire, says, taking my palm and pressing a wet kiss on it. 'My name is Sir William Brereton.'

'Cat Percy,' I say in between my giggles. Sir William's companion takes my palm and repeats the gesture. 'I am Sir Thomas Wyatt, my Lady Cat.' he says in his sultry voice that makes Mary's eyes gleam. He has the look of an wit. He draws away and smiles at George and Mary. 'We'll set off now so we can make the most of the time we have.'

George, Sir Thomas and Sir William go into the stables and come out with three strong brown horses. George swings the reigns of his into Sir William's hands and comes over to help me mount my brother's horse. Gripping onto his hand, I climb onto the horse.

We ride through trees of the forest, the wind whipping our hair and slapping our cheeks, in a gallop. It feels good.

.*.

_Meanwhile, in his office, Lord Henry Percy Sr., the Duke of Northumberland, sits in his office. He picks up a thin piece of parchment and drips the sharp point of his quill into a full pot of ink, thinks for a moment for the words to write, and then etches the letters onto the paper, as so:_

_Lady Catherine, my dear wife,_

_I regret not writing to you hence the business of our daughters futures. Catherine thrives here, many hath told me so, and I myself hath seen her dance in a Christmas masque; indeed, she has the grace and spirit to be a fine Court lady. Yesterday, I was visited by a man interested in providing his son as a husband for Catherine, and it is quite a tempting offer. I am aware he has approached others in the past as a bride for his boy - you now know whom I speak of. I realize you may oppose to the match, but we cannot keep stalling this matter until a boy of stock equal to ours appears. I hath not agreed nor refused. Before that, of course, we must discuss the matter of the dowry. As for Elizabeth, our elder girl too seems fitted to Court life and many hath commented on her appearance that bears likeness to her mother. You blush as you read, for I know you well. However, I shall obey your request and send the instructions before sunset. Younger Henry and I spoke last eve and he is still troubled by his match. He now sulks unattractively. Give Thomas and Ingelram an affectionate pinch. I pray they do not harass you too much. _

_Your affectionate husband and lord,_

_Henry Percy Sr., Duke of Northumberland._

.*.

We ride for a few hours until we reach a village - only just bigger than a hamlet, it is a clump of cottages, a few with signs hanging on the doors. One is a baker, another a tailor, there is a little shop and on the end of a lane, a tavern. George leads us towards it and confidently hops off his steed, beckoning for a boy to take the reins from us. Sir Thomas and Sir William, red in the faces, go straight into the tavern and I hear their voices, ordering ale and a tureen of stew, echo around the room. George lingers to help Mary and I dismount.

We are seated around the fire to warm our hands whilst the innkeepers bustle, preparing our meal. It comes quickly enough and we dig in like it has been a millennium since we last eat.

'So, Lady Cat, what brings you to Court?' asks Sir Thomas.

'To find a husband.' I tell him the honest understandable truth.

Sir William's eyes widen. 'It'll be a lucky man who gets you in his bed-'

'William!' snaps George, his spoon loaded with meat.

Sir William looks sheepish.

'A very lucky man, Cat,' Sir Thomas sweeps in. 'You and your family are quite the subject of speculation of marriage. The Talbot's have your elder brother, and it was said that the Cavendish's were after Elizabeth?'

'Indeed.' I say. 'I'm glad she refused - he was such a fossil. She'd have been miserable with him.'

'I wish I'd have been born and bred a Percy.' Mary confesses. 'You get to say no to your matches. It's a privilege I was denied.'

'I thought you liked been a Boleyn!' George cries indignant. 'Your traitor! And you said you loved William Carey, too!'

'Meow!' Sir William interrupts playfully. 'Do I sense a catfight?'

'Hey, I'm the cat here!' I quip, and the two men laugh.

Mary flushes. 'It isn't exactly the life I would have chosen for myself if I had the choice, George, and nor would you if you were in my place.' she snaps. 'The wife of a merchant's son isn't exactly enjoyable - I think you'll find our marital bed is cold and our attitudes to each other quite frigid. And about being a Boleyn - well, we're nothing but pawns!'

'Pawns!' her brother scoffs.

'Yes, pawns for power and position,' Mary verifies harshly. 'and the ambition that throttles our father and our uncle. We are like cattle to be traded at their will. Our feelings mean nothing. If the marriage gives the Boleyns higher status and more riches, it matters not whether we are repulsed or upset. But Cat here is allotted a choice - their parents are more lenient on them and respect their emotions towards the man or woman chosen to be their partner. _That _is why I said I envied Cat.'

'You are still a traitor.' George mutters. 'You have no pride in being a Boleyn.'

'Henry didn't get to choose.' I point out, a little late.

'Yes, but he's the heir.' Mary states the truth. 'His marriage is more significant and is more important than that of you and your younger brothers and sister, for from it the heritage of your dukedom depends on. But you yourself have more of a decision in the welfare of your marriage than I or my sister or George could hope for.'

George stands and hands our empty bowls to the serving woman hovering nearby. 'Finish your ale,' he says to his sister bluntly. 'We'll need to be riding back to Hampton Court if we're to be on time.'

I sip a little of the bitter liquid and then hand my glass to Sir William to finish. We thank the innkeepers and mount our horses once more, and set off again in a steady gallop down the road, out of the village and through the forest. Like before, we barely speak, concentrating on the ride, though the two Sirs hoot when their horses jerk underneath them. George is faster than us all by far. Mary barely bats an eyelash and challenges the two Sirs, claiming that she can beat them back to the palace. Like little boys, they take the challenge and fly through the trees with Mary in their wake, leaving me to slow to a canter and take in the scenery. The colours - the brown of tree bark, the white of the snow, the silver of the snowdrops and the little darts of pink from the early spring blooms flourishing - are so vivid, as they would be in a painting. Libby would adore it here.

'Taking in the scenery?'

I'm startled out of my analysing by George, who sways by my side at a speed to match my own. His eyes are gentle once more and his temper that fuelled at the tavern seems to have died. 'Yes,' I reply, patting my mare's head.

'I can't blame you.' he says. 'It's very beautiful out here. Anne likes it, too.'

'Where is she, Anne?' I ask. 'I don't mean to pry, but I haven't seen her at Court.'

'No, she is in France, a lady of the French Queen's household. She's learning to be a chic young woman worthy of Court and not a wild little girl from Wiltshire.' he smiles at himself as he says it, and I presume he is thinking about to their childhood. 'She'll return sometime soon, I should think. Father talks about her marrying James Butler, some cousin of ours. If she does, she'll be Countess of Ormond.'

He looks at me. 'Mary is right. You are lucky. Very lucky, indeed, to have a say in your marital future. I can vow right now that I won't. In fact, I can swear on my own existence now, too, that it will be to some goat from distant relatives to the King, with a large nose, who snoops and sneaks and is always suspicious of me, always telling herself I've taken a mistress. I'll become a spiteful monster destroyed by my wife.'

He sounds so sure of it that I reach over and stroke his right hand clutching his reins. He looks a little surprised by my intimacy. 'You look so certain,' I explain, drawing back my hand. 'I just had to. I'm sure you won't have to marry that kind of woman. You'll wed a kind and obedient woman who knows her place and how to please.'

He perks a little. 'Promise?' he asks as sincere as a little boy.

'Promise.' I say with a smile.

We canter onwards through the trees until Hampton Court comes into full view. Then, as we grace the very last of the woodlands, George reaches over and takes my hand. His flesh is warm and rough like a man's skin should be. I turn my head to see him lean forward, and the next thing I know I feel his soft lips on mine briefly, and when he draws away my lips burn with his touch and my eyes glisten and my vision is hazed by thousands of stars.

.*.

But when I scramble into my bedchamber like a drunkard, my happiness drains. On the bed opposite mine is a large trunk with the lid flung open, crammed with possessions like a jigsaw. Sitting next to it, Libby slots in another riding hat of red velvet, her cheeks streaked with tears.

'What's going on Libby?' I prompt gently, approaching her.

'I-I'm being sent back to Alnwick.' she replies, quiet as a mouse. 'Just me. Mother's orders.'

My breath catches in my throat. _No no no. _

'But we-we are supposed to be here together… the Percy sisters, dancing and feasting and laughing and gambling, finding suitable husbands, pleasing His and Her Majesty…'

'All gone.' my sister whispers. 'Scrapped, as quick as a summer breeze.'

Her being poetic makes me teary. My golden-hearted sister is leaving me on my own in this place. I had so much to tell her, of the ride and the inn and that glorious dreamy moment when George kissed me, but now I can't find the words. The memories come and go in a blur; playing in a field of wheat, learning to embroider, her nursing me when I was sick, dancing with our brothers, I nursing her when she was sick, all the little birthday presents we lovingly laboured over when the other was in lessons; all our childhood spent in one another's company, hardly apart. I know one day I will have a household and a family of just mine, but I am only seventeen; barely an adult, just experiencing the wonders of early love. How will I go on in this place without the motherly support of my elder sister?

I sink onto Libby's bed and we wrap our arms around one another, clinging to the time we have together.


	5. Succumbing to Passion

**OK, guys, this is the longest chapter yet, but don't let that put you off, because I think it's the best. This has a timespan of two months to pick things up. I just want to say a big THANK YOU for the reviews which are simply amazing! And that please don't hate me for what comes in this chapter to Libby; I love her and think she is one of the best characters in this, but like what George says in this one, too 'after rain comes a rainbow'. **

**I know you want to know who Cat will marry but for the sake of the story, I can't say. Believe me, I want to. Anyway, enjoy! x.**

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><p><strong>V - Succumbing to Passion<strong>

**February-March 1522, Richmond Palace, London, England**

Libby leaves the next morning, the fifteenth. I go with her to the stables just as the sun rises and help her mount her horse. She avoids my eye and keeps her kerchief clenched tight in her fist. At the sign of Henry, our brother who, in what I presume is a flight from Court and the wedding snapping at his heels, will escort her home to Alnwick. My heart aches as the two of them ride through the palace gates, Libby's belongings in a litter behind them, and I am left all alone.

.*.

_At Alnwick Castle, Northumberland, Lady Catherine Percy Sr. lounges on a velvet chair looking out of the window. She awaits the arrival of her heir Henry and eldest daughter Elizabeth, who come riding in just after twelve o'clock. At once, Lady Catherine sends her maids to fetch them to her, and then when they return she dismisses them promptly. _

'_My Lady Mother.' Elizabeth drops a curtsy. _

'_Elizabeth, I suppose you are wondering why I called you home from Court?' says Lady Catherine, inspecting her daughter; slender, blonde, blushless complexion, dressed well. Yes, she thinks, she had maintained my orders, although I suspect her sister has not._

'_Yes, madam,' Libby replies. 'C-Cat and I were so grieved-'_

'_Cat is exactly the reason why you have come home.' Lady Catherine buts in sharply. _

_Her daughter's eyes widen. 'Cat? But she hasn't done anything-'_

'_No, but your father and I have.' her mother reveals, standing up and walking over to Libby. 'We have arranged a match with Cat and the son of a noble. However, the contract is fresh and delicate, and in order to keep their interest we need all eyes on Cat and no other. Therefore, to stop wandering eyes to your obviously prettier face, we have removed you from Court until Cat and the boy are wedded and bedded.'_

'_She won't do it.' swears the elder Percy girl. 'Cat will not marry on your account. She will be stubborn a-and-'_

'_She will obey her parents order, or can consider herself ridden of any property, plate and jewel in her father's will when, God forbid, he passes. Catherine will be married before the year is out and will have a child before the end of the next. Your father has the King's approval. It is signed and sealed and the dowry is to be settled upon on this day. It is marriage no silly little girl can break. I will not have her stamping her little feet and having a tantrum - it is high time she accepted her fate as a good woman does! Catherine is a Percy; she cannot of dreamed she would be allowed to _choose _her husband or marry for love!' Lady Catherine smuggles a peal of laughter at the ridiculous prospect - marry for love, what a brainless idea! It is very much a Cat thought, always dwelling of silly little things like romantic poetry and dancing the volte and marrying a man as passionate for her in the heart as he is in the bed. She is less a woman than one would think at first glance._

'_Has she been told?' asks the Duchess's daughter._

'_No.' is her mother's sharp answer. 'And it will stay like that unlike a month before the nuptials shall take place, when the dowry is paid and we have the King's seal on the contract. It must be finalised before the last step can be climbed and the opinion of one little girl has no affect whatsoever. You and your brothers are forbidden to talk of it out of these walls. In order to keep it that way, you are all restricted to writing to Cat once a week and no more. Every letter sent out and in these walls will be read by me, so it would be foolish to try to smuggle information out to her.' _

_Libby nods, staring at the floor. 'May I know who Cat will marry, my Lady Mother?' she requests. _

_Lady Catherine falls back onto her soft chair and smoothes out her skirts. 'I think you shall know him,' she says. Then she leans forward and whispers the name to her daughter, and dismisses the girl with the wave of her hand, going back to her letters._

.*.

Although I was aware how fast news travels in Court, especially one's most privy secrets, and how this wasn't necessarily a good thing, I was grateful that within hours of Libby's departure to Northumberland everyone at Court knew she was gone. The stricter and most devout of the Queen's ladies were softer towards me and even the Queen gave me a few words, she herself knowing of how it is to have someone close taken away.

I couldn't help but think of those tiny babies that perished within hours, days or weeks in the world, and the clothes the Queen lovingly embroidered for them, which remain unworn past 52 days. Those six little pieces of flesh and bone, some with hearts that beat and some without, with souls and characters never to flourish. Those six tiny bundles with lungs that draw air, stomachs that crave feeding, mouths that pucker for milk and cheeks upturned for kisses. Six newborns with wisps of auburn hair and eyes no bigger than a thumbnail, claimed by God to live in His heaven above, never to live on Earth. The tragedy of Queen Katherine, Catalina d'Aragon, who knows suffering and pain much more than I do.

But the biggest comfort was George, who came to the Queen's chambers during the hour before the banquet, and over to the corner where Mary Talbot, Mary Carey and I are bent over our embroidery. With a few words to his sister and Mary Talbot, he set my work aside and dragged me, hand in mine (which made me blush), out of the Queen's chambers and to the stables. It is there where we meet for hours each remaining day of February. We rode through that dear little forest and stopped sometimes to wander through freely, afterwards visiting the tavern for ale and stew. My heart skipped beats on those special moments when our palms touched and, wonderfully, so did our lips.

'Have you received any news from your Mother the Duchess?' he asks one day, when we are cantering down the rocky forest path. When I turn my head towards him, confused, he looks sheepish. 'It's just, you said before that you had come to Court to find a husband. I was wondering whether you had heard from the Duchess about that matter?'

It's sweet how anxious to hear my reply is. 'No, no, I haven't.' I reply. 'It's as if she's dead and gone.'

'Anything from your sister or brothers?'

'Oh, just one from Ingelram, about the length of a limerick.' I say dismissively. 'Just to say that the weather is awful and my dogs are well.'

'Not a word from Libby? How unusual. You are both so close.'

I shrug. 'She'll be busy running errands for the Duchess like before we left. I always had to beg her to get her to play with me.'

He laughs. 'So, no husband yet?' George says. 'You must be glad.' _And. I'm willing to bet, so is he, _I think to myself.

'Actually, I'm rather disappointed.' I say, a chortle rising in my throat when his shoulders twitch and his eyes flicker with puzzlement. 'I had hoped to be betrothed at least now,' I add. 'I'm getting older by the minute and my face isn't going to last. If I'm not matched by the end of summer, I think I'll have to complain to the Duchess.'

His brow wrinkles as he stammers, 'But I thought… you said before that… you didn't want an arranged marriage…'. I take my cue and gallop ahead of him, knowing the joy every woman has when she has a handsome man on the run.

.*.

_In his office days later, on the sixteenth of March, Lord Henry Percy Sr., Duke of Northumberland, sits in his chair and stares out of his window, deep in thought. Suddenly, there is a knock on the door._

'_Enter!' commands the Duke. A messenger in the Percy livery stumbles inside clutching an envelope. 'A letter,' he breathes. 'from My Lady the Duchess.'_

_At the mention of his wife's name, Henry Percy Sr. perks and snatches the envelope from the man's hands. 'You may go.' he says, turning away from him and quickly prising the paper open. The parchment inside is creased and stained with fingerprints. Henry opens it and reads it, and when he finishes his eyes are wide with concern. It is by far the worst possible news he can receive._

.*.

It's very late when I stumble into my bed chamber after the merrymaking after the banquet. 'I'll-be-in-soon,' Mary Carey told me in between laughs, clutching to her husband's arm as he makes another bawdy joke. The men were gambling and us women hovered, flirting and refilling their goblets of wine. George left us after an hour, rubbing his forehead and saying something I couldn't hear over the laughter about needing sleep. I don't expect Mary back here tonight, anyhow.

Wrapped in sheets is Mary Talbot, my future sister-in-law, who complained of a headache and left us when the banquet ceased. She snores gently, cuddling her pillow. I creep past her and the sadly empty bed opposite mine, and within minutes I've folded my gown and hood into the chest and changed into my nightgown, with a blue velvet wrap around my shoulders for warmth. I slip in-between the cold sheets and think of something to dream, but in vain, as someone lightly raps on the door. 'Lady Catherine Percy?' a man's voice calls in.

'Yes?' I say sleepily, opening it a crack so only my head and right arm can slip out. Immediately, I recognise my family livery. 'A letter from the Duke,' the man thrusts it into my hand, bows hurriedly and rushes away.

I close the door and open the envelope. The seal is already broken, so Father must have read it. Is it from Libby? But when I open the letter and see Mother's signature, my heart sinks.

_My Lord husband, Henry, and my daughter, Catherine,_

_The Sweat is in Northumberland. A maid brought it into the castle and now half our staff are sick. I myself is well, as is Heir and Thomas. Ingelram frail, on edge of death for a good few days. Elizabeth terribly scarred - this destroys __everything__. It's such a pity. Will write further when all are well. _

_Yours,_

_Lady Catherine Percy. _

Bile rises in my throat. My heart patters. _Elizabeth terribly scarred -_ my Libby, my dearest, darling sister, my beauty, fair in face and heart; a victim of the deadliest of diseases, scarred for life, her marital prospects in the dust. And all Mother cares about is that she cannot wed now. _It's such a pity. _

But my rage is hollow when I realize tears drip onto the floorboards. My sister and younger brother were on the edge of death all this time I have been riding out with the man that makes my heart rush. I feel so terrible. I need someone. Mary is with the men. Other Mary sleeps. I can't go to Father or my brothers. Who?

I know. I leg it from the door of my bedchamber into the ones just a corridor from the King's. Tears leave a trail behind me, and when I reach his door I'm gasping for breath. 'George!' I croak. 'George!'

'Cat?' A sleepy voice calls. I hear the bed creak and the rustle of opening curtains.

'George!'

The door opens and I run into George's arms. He, too, is in his nightgown, and his hair is rustled. I've awoken him. He swings the door shut and locks it, and then pulls me away.

'Now, what's wrong?' he asks, taking in my dishevelled hair, thin nightgown and the letter clutched to my chest. He extends one thumb and wipes a tear away as it falls.

'I-It's L-Libby.' I tell him shakily. 'Th-the Sweat c-came to Northumberland, and s-she and Ingelram caught it. Both well, b-but L-Libby is ba-badly scarred.'

'Oh.' George takes me in his arms and hugs me tight. 'That's terrible. Thank God their lives are saved.'

'It's not j-just that.' I mumble into his chest. 'M-Mother wrote _it's such a pity_. She's n-not even glad they are a-alive, she's just w-worried that Libby will n-not be suitable to m-marry.'

He takes the letter and reads it. 'That's awful.' he comments, pushing it aside on the nearby mahogany table. 'Truly awful of your mother the Duchess.'

'It's j-just like her.' I snivel. George hands me a kerchief and I mop my tears and nose. 'Only worried a-about wealth, and property, and d-damn position!'

'Hey now, don't get so wound up.' George advises gently. He pours me a goblet of some liquid and hands it to me. I sip it - it's nice. Warm ale, I think. 'You need rest.' he goes on. 'Sleep heals the wound, you'll find. I'll tell Mary to tell the Queen that you are ill. The Queen's a kind lady - she'll understand.'

'I-I'm not ill.' I refuse, gulping my warm ale. 'I-I'm distraught, angry, afraid for their lives… and I'm so confused. Of all the people to condemn the Sweat on, God picks Libby. Sweet, innocent, good-hearted Libby. All of the future we had planned - marriage and children - are ruined.'

'I know.' George pours himself a cup. 'But just remember; after the rain comes a rainbow.'

I smile and hand him my empty goblet. 'You always know what to say.' I compliment, feeling my cheeks colour. Suddenly, I feel brave, and step closer to him. He does not back away, but looks at me as he drains his goblet. Those eyes never seemed so…irresistible.

I don't know how it happens after that; it melts into a blurred dream. I recall our kisses, first soft and tender and then charged with desire - that little terror that loves to frolic with the hearts of the young and naïve. I recall his hands moving from his cup to my hips. I recall the softness of the bed linen. I recall the pain and then the pleasure. I recall myself succumbing to passion - what Mother said was sinful and the priest said was the Devil's best friend. But it isn't like flames lapping at my feet, an excruciating pain, but a steady rush that brings me and George together, and that I know I will long for it all my life.


	6. The Second Boleyn

**A/N: As pretty much begged for (but I'm not complaining!), the next chapter! Thank you for all the reviews. Please continue with them - encouragement/advise/criticism is the only payment an author gets. Enjoy.**

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><p><strong>VI - The Second Boleyn<strong>

**Early April 1522, Richmond Palace, London, England.**

'War.' is the first word George says to me when he comes into the Queen's chamber. The Two Mary's, Anne and Mary Brandon (daughters of the Duke of Suffolk; visiting with their stepmother Princess Mary, the King's sister) and I are sat around a table, and in my hands is a pack of cards I am shuffling for our game. However, when I see my love's face, I shove them into Mary Talbot's hands and stand up.

'War.' George repeats. 'The King has declared war on France.'

'That's terrible,' his sister comments. But her brother looks at her like she's crazy.

'No, it's great, Mary,' he corrects her. 'If we win, this will be our greatest glory! The King will reclaim all his French lands and we will be more powerful than ever! The Holy Roman Emperor is lined up and aiming for the heart of France, and we're sending troops to Calais to march into Paris. We'll thrash them and half the profit with the Emperor_ and _we'll have the Spanish quivering in their boots!'

'Sssh!' I hush him, glancing over at the Queen and her devoted Spaniards, who eye us suspiciously. Maria de Salinas channels a frosty glare. 'The Queen is very proud of her heritage,' I whisper. 'She'll ban you from coming in here if you aren't careful.'

George shrugs. 'Why should I care whether I can come in here or not?' he leans forward to whisper in my ear; 'After all, you come to me.'

He draws away and smiles seductively. With a bow to my companions, who arch their brows and shift on their stools, he walks out the chambers.

'What did he say to you?' Mary Talbot asks, her usual nosy self, as I sit down and shuffle the cards again.

'Oh, nothing.' I say with a secret smile. I'm keeping _that _to myself. 'Just a petty insult about the Queen. Nothing of your interest.'

.*.

George is right; war has been formally declared. All the men shake with excitement, chatting away about who will be sent to fight, which ships will be used, etc. I find it terribly dull and decide to keep to my rooms, focusing on embroidering a veil for Libby. I've proved to be a quite good gambler and have used my profit to buy some silver thread and black veil, thicker than one worn at a wedding. I still want her to join me at Court, but I know Mother will not let her without a veil.

I also suspect Mother is withholding my letters to her, for I have written five and still had no reply for any of my family. Something in my head keeps telling me I'm not being told something, yet I brush it away. We've never kept secrets for each other. If something _was_ going on, I would know.

One night, as the wind slaps the windows and the rain makes a soothing tune as it falls, Mary Carey, Mary Talbot and I are preparing for bed. George hasn't asked me to come to his chambers, so I take as I'm sleeping in my own. We unlace our bodices and skirts and hurry into our nightgowns and then into the cold feel of our bed sheets, pulling them up to our chins.

Then, just as I am about to drift into sleep, Mary Carey, in her bed next to mine, asks, 'Cat?'

'Yes?' I say with a yawn.

'Are you in love with my brother?'

I knew this was coming, but my throat feels dry. I haven't thought of telling anyone about George and I, but - it was Mary. Good and kind Mary, George's sister. She can be trusted. 'You won't… tell anyone?' I whisper, so Mary Talbot in her bed across from us can't hear.

She nods. Our beds are so close together that she can reach over and squeeze my palm. 'I won't say a word.' she vows. 'George is a lovely boy - I'm sure you'll be very happy together.'

.*.

_The next day, Lord Henry Percy Sr. is in his office with his companion, the father of the soon-to-be husband of Henry's youngest daughter, his beloved Cat. They have sent word to the companion's son for him to come to the office immediately, and now await him._

_The boy walks in, his hair scruffy, bowing to his father and Henry Percy Sr. 'You asked to see me, Sir?' he asks._

'_Yes.' his father says, stepping forwards to put his hands on his son's shoulders. 'We have wonderful news, my boy. The Duke-' he pauses to look gratefully at Henry Percy Sr. 'has arranged a match between you and his daughter, Lady Catherine.'_

_The boy glances from Henry Percy Sr. to his father and back and forth once again. He is speechless. _

_His father steps back. 'We will_ _be eternally grateful to the Duke. His daughters are two of the most beautiful young women in the land, and you, my boy, will be wedded to one of them before the month is out. The King has given his consent and will even attend the event! The King of England, at _your _wedding!' _

_The boy regains consciousness after a few moments of shock. After all, it's not every day you are told you are to marry the daughter of one the senior nobles in the country. 'Yes, yes,' he says. 'Thank you, my Lord Duke. I am very grateful, and very pleased.' he bows, still flustered._

'_It's my pleasure, boy.' the Duke says. 'All I ask - I _need _- is for you to take care of my daughter. She is a noblewoman of good birth and expect her to be treated like one, and not a harlot from the whorehouse. She is a Percy no matter the ring on her finger. You understand?'_

_The boy nodded. 'I will take the greatest care of-of your daughter, Sir.' _

_The Duke relaxes. 'I am glad to hear it.' he gives the two men a cheeky grin. 'Of course, she is an obedient girl, and knows her place. You needn't fear, my lad - you are the man in the marriage. What you wish of her, your privileges, we shall say, she will willingly oblige.'_

.*.

In the midway of the month, Mary Carey slips into the Queen's chambers with someone new following her. The Queen, seated on her throne, allows the woman to curtsy, which is an immaculate, low gesture.

'You must be the new lady at Court?' the Queen inquires. 'I am not aware I am to have another lady-in-waiting, so you must not be part of my household.'

The open insult sends a flurry of chatter around us. 'I am Anne Boleyn.' the woman says. Her hair falls straight down her back, dark as ash, and her eyes match. Her gown is light blue silk with a French Hood without the veil. Around her shoulders is a stylishly cut cloak trimmed in white ermine. Her voice is thick with a French accent, which had the men artisans in the room exchange looks. She is seductive and defiant as she holds the Queen's gaze, which is brimming with frost.

'Welcome to Court.' the Queen says. 'We were just planning a pageant, to be performed after tomorrow night's banquet. Cardinal Wolsey has written to me of it. It is called Chateau Vert; five ladies are to dance with five knights who besiege the fort. I think it sounds delightful; tell me, Mistress Anne, do you?'

'I do, Your Majesty.' Anne replies.

'Now tell me, Mistress Anne, would you like to be one of the five ladies?'

'If Your Majesty was so kind to choose me, I would not refuse.'

The Queen nods. 'Mistress Anne, Mary Carey, Queen Mary of France, Anne Brandon,' she pauses and does an overview of the room. 'and Catherine Percy will participate.'

The five of us chosen sink into grateful curtsies and cluster into the centre of the room. 'Catherine,' the Queen looks at me. 'Would you fetch the master of the revels so we can choose costumes and plot out the dancing?'

I curtsy and leave the room as the Queen orders Mary to write to the Cardinal and accept the masque proposition, and everyone begins to crowd around Anne, the second Boleyn.

.*.

When tomorrow comes, we change out of our normal gowns and into the masque ones. The bodices are tight-fitting white satin without sleeves and the skirts puff out a little. It's a far departure from my normal gowns, and I can't help but feel like an angel. With gold-embroidered masks and crowns atop our hair, which is piled up on the top of the head, and ruffs around our necks, we look grand. The Queen claps her hands when she inspects us.

'Now, parts.' she says, taking five sashes from one lady by her side. She dishes them out without fuss; Mary is Kindness (a perfect fit) and Anne is Perseverance. That, too, is perfect. When she comes to me with the final ribbon and ties it around my left shoulder, it reads 'Beauty'.

'Fitting for you,' the Queen comments kindly.

'Oh, My Lady, how could any man think me a beauty when you are nearby? You outshine all other beauties.' I compliment.

'Perhaps you should be Sweetness, no?' the Queen says and her ladies smile and accompany her out. We are left to adjust the pearls in our ears and the crowns on our heads. After a few moments, there is a blast of music. It is our cue.

We sneak into the banquet hall and into our places in the 'chateau' and the masque begins. Indian women, played by the royal chap choristers, attack us, and we run delicately away, clutching our skirts, horrified as these wild beasts chase us. But then, under the sound of flute, our saviours appear! The knights, dressed in breastplates and silver cloth, run gallantly in and battle the Indians, who giddily end up on the floor, mock-dead. Then, we angelic ladies flee out of our chateau and into the arms of the knights, who fling rose petals over our heads. We drench them in rose water and then begin to dance, circling them once, twice, thrice, jumping up and then allowing them to twirl us. It is great fun and leaves us all breathless.

Next to me, Mary circles the tallest knight - the King. They talk quietly, their eyes shining. When it is time to unmask, the King orders another dance; 'the Volte!' Although high on the silly excitement of the pageant, we are still shocked; the Volte is an intense, sensual, passionate dance of thriving and deep love. But we do not argue and flow to the beat of the dance, weaving in and out with our knights, getting closer and closer together as the music speeds up.

'Are you well, Beauty?' asks my knight when he twirls me around.

'Indeed, my knight.' I answer. 'And you?'

'I couldn't not be, for I have you for a partner.' he flatters me. 'One can see why your name is Beauty.'

'As one could easily name you Handsome.' I say, fluttering my eyelashes.

The music ends abruptly and the Volte comes to an end. Turning towards Mary, the King turns so we all can see and whips off his mask. Mary pretends to be shocked. 'My Lord! It is you!' she cries.

'Aye!' the King laughs. 'And who is the bonny face christened Kindness?' he plucks Mary's mask and fakes being equally shocked. 'Lady Carey, Lady Kind.' he praises, planting a long kiss on her palm.

One by one, we all unmask. I take mine off first, and he kisses my palm. 'Lady Catherine,' he acknowledges.

'Now you.' I decree. He does so obediently, laughing as I realize who it is.

'George!' I splutter.

'Aye! It is me, Cat!' he says. 'You didn't recognise me!'

'No, no, I didn't.' I say. 'I feel a fool.'

'I knew it was you.' he boasts. 'Your beauty is apparent even in disguise.'

I fan my cheeks from the heat. 'You are hot, Cat?' George asks. When I nod, he puts on a cheeky smile and leans close so only I can hear. 'So you would prefer the coldness of your own bed rather than mine as I was so hoping?'

I gasp. He draws away. 'Please?' he mouths. The King orders another dance and the crowds seated stand, find partners and come to join in.

The music starts and we begin to dance again. When we draw close, I whisper, 'I-I don't know if I will be able to sneak away.'

'Say you need to speak to your father.' he begs softly. 'Anything, as long as I can see you.'

The joy of love and lust pangs my heart. 'I'll come.' I agree quietly.

He grins and I grin back, and when the dance ends with his arm slung around my waist he draws me close and plants an affectionate kiss on my cheek. 'You are Beauty, _my _Beauty,' he says. 'Mine for always.'

'Mine for always.' I promise.

**A/N: Just wanted to add that I know Anne returned in January and debuted in Chateau Vert in March, but I've made them later. This won't have an effect on anything. I thought you (I'm looking at Lily Anne Rose, here;)) might want to know that in the next chapter ALL _may _BE REVEALED. I know, I'm excited. I'm going to stop writing now before I say something else. :) Hope you liked it! x**


	7. The Decision

**A/N: Here it is, everyone. The big revelation. I can't wait to write the next chapter! I hope you like this (I am chuffed with it, but that's just me) x**

* * *

><p><strong>VII - The Decision.<strong>

**Midway April, 1522, Richmond Palace, London, England**

'Catherine? Catherine Percy?'

'Yes?' I say, coming out of my bedchamber. 'Yes?'

'Cat?'

I stop dead on my tracks just as I shut the door. I _know _that voice.

It can't be.

It just isn't.

I run through the corridor and sure as ever it is who I think it is. Stood in the Queen's empty chamber in a dark gown trimmed in fur and a veil covering her face, golden hair tumbling down her back, is my sister.

'Libby!' I cry. We rush into each other's arms into a hug. She smells of grass and fresh wind under her perfume - the scent of home. 'Are you well?' I ask her.

'As well as possible after the Sweat.' Libby replies, pulling away from me. 'No, really, I feel fine.'

'And your scarring?'

She winces. 'Just my face and back. A little on my shoulders. I hate these veils, but Mother says I'll get used to them.'

'I feel terrible.' I admit. 'Of you of all people, too, to have the Sweat. What's it like?'

'_What's it like_?'

'How does it feel having the Sweat?'

She closes her eyes. 'Agonizing. One minute you are cold and the next your blood boils. Your head and joints ache, and your throat is as dry as prune. Your pulse speeds up alarmingly. The heart hurts. It's as horrid as everyone says it is. Ingelram went delirious, too, and Mother, but that's normal.'

'It was just you two who caught it?'

'Yes. I was scarred on the face and back, Ingelram on the arms and legs. We were sick for five or six days, no more than a week. Mother wouldn't enter the room except for evening prayers, but Harry and Thomas visited every hour or so.'

'Are they here?'

'Somewhere, yes. I came straight here.'

I hug her again. 'I didn't expect you.'

'It was an unannounced visit - more a flee from Mother actually. She mopes in her chambers at Alnwick, upset because I have escaped her plot and am no longer eligible to marry. One good thing that has come from the Sweat.'

We begin to walk out of the room. 'But I thought you wanted to marry?' I ask. 'You always said you longed for motherhood.'

She shrugs. 'I did.' she says. 'But now I'm a free woman, which is something a woman in this generation isn't allowed to be. I'm no longer the family's pawn for power. I will never have a husband or children of my own, but that's the sacrifice I'll have to make to be free. I'm starting to think it was lucky that I caught the Sweat.'

I smile and hug her again. 'My brave, lucky sister.' I praise. 'Lucky Libby.'

.*.

_Inside the office of Lord Henry Percy Sr. stands Henry Percy Sr. Henry Percy Jr. and the father of the groom._

'_I've sent Thomas to fetch Cat.' Henry Jr. says, trying to break the ice that always exists between two families organizing an arranged marriage._

'_Catherine.' corrects his father. 'She was named Catherine at birth, not Cat. Soon she shall be a married woman. You must treat her like one in speech as well as behaviour.'_

_His son nods. _

'_So we are clear.' Henry Percy Sr. says to his colleague. 'The dowry is settled on, the King agrees, it's all done. There is no turning back. You understand me?'_

'_Of course, my Lord.' the man replies. 'We are delighted by your kindness. This is a huge opportunity for us, not being one of the wealthiest noble families, and we are forever in your debt.'_

_Henry Sr. nods. 'You have sent for the boy?'_

'_One of my daughters has been sent to fetch him.'_

'_I hear they have settled well in Court.'_

'_Indeed. My youngest has just returned to Court. The eldest is married.'_

'_A good match?'_

'_They are both quiet, easy to please, fair-hearted people, so I'd say yes. My youngest is more adventurous, a spirit for excitement. It might be more difficult to match her.'_

'_Aye, I understand. I myself have a fair elder girl, just wants a husband and child, and a younger girl with a spirit for entertainment. It seems this is the only nuptials I will have to arrange for my girls; the elder caught the Sweat and is scarred.'_

'_I'm so sorry.' _

'_Don't concern yourself with it. She's a good girl with a good spirit. She'll see through it and I even suspect the idea of being alone and free may grow on her. Needless to say, the Duchess isn't impressed.'_

'_Aye, my Lord, it seems you can never please the wife with your work.'_

'_Aye.'_

_The door opens and Henry Percy Sr.'s two daughters enter the office. _

.*.

'My Lord Father.' Libby and I curtsy for our father. 'Brother.' we nod our heads to Harry.

'My daughters,' Father acknowledges us with his kind welcoming smile. 'I see you are both well. I am sorry to see you, Elizabeth, in such poor condition.'

'I am well, my Lord.' my sister says. 'Please do not trouble yourself with me. I feel no regrets at the prospects I have lost.'

Father nods. He always liked her quiet, brave acceptance of the truth. 'Catherine,' he turns to me. 'You have been summoned here for a purpose.'

_What have I done now? _I think. _What has Mother said I should be scolded for?_

'Catherine, you are to be married.'

I step back. Has he just said what I think he has? That I am to be bride? 'But I am only eighteen, my Lord.' I stutter.

'A fine age to wed.' Father insists. 'You have good looks and hips wide enough for heirs.'

'But my Lord… I do not want to wed. Not yet. I am still so young.' I push George out of my mind as far as I can. I cannot bear to think of his face when he hears that I am to marry.

'You have no choice.' Father says simply. 'It has been arranged. The King himself, the King of England, Catherine, has agreed to it and will attend. It is a huge honour.'

'I have met no one I wish to wed.' I lie, swallowing back all the moments with George.

'That does not matter. You are to wed him and that is that. Do not argue with me. On the thirtieth of this month you will go into the chapel here and come out a married woman.'

I shake my head. _Please no. Not now. I have only just found George. Please could you give us more time together before I must promise myself to another. Please! How will I manage all those nights in another man's arms? How can I love him when my heart belongs to another? How can I carry another man's child when I ache for it to be George's? I cannot do this. _

'My Lord, please.' I beg feebly. 'I am too young. Can we not wait for a few years?'

'No.' Father brushes my excuses away. 'We are not only securing your future but another family's. They are rising stars in the Court and are favoured by the King. You cannot get round me, Catherine, so don't try.'

My stomach flips and I want to spew. _This cruelty, this torture. I love George, Father, and no other. My love can only ignite for him. I cannot bed another man and call him Husband. I cannot swear I am pure and my maidenhood in tact and wear the ring of another man on my finger. I will not throw away my nights with George. Mine for always, he said to me during that masque, and I said it back. _I put my hand on my stomach and try to concentrate on anything other than George.

'Who?' I whisper. 'My Lord, who is to my husband?'

The office door swings open. In shuffles in a blonde woman in a pale purple gown. She curtsies for Father and his colleague. I turn away from them and catch Harry's eye, and he gives me one of his reassuring _wish-I-could-help-you-try-to-be-a-good-about-it _grins and nods towards the woman. But when I swish around someone else is by her side. The brown waves, eyes like pools of delicious chocolate, the green satin sleeves…

'Catherine,' Father says, his voice an irritating buzz in my ears. 'This is your husband-to-be, Sir George Boleyn.'

George. George? _My_ George? I am to marry George. Sure enough, it's his hair and eyes and build and clothes. My husband-to-be is the man I love. Is this pure luck or has Mary spoken? Is God answering my prayers? A million questions blur in my mind and I'm aware that my mouth hangs open a little. George bows low and plants a kiss on my palm. 'It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Lady Catherine.' he says politely.

_But you already know me_, I want to shout. _For God's sake, I visited your rooms just days ago! Is this true, George? Are we to wed? Are we to spend the rest of our lives together, and have children together? Are we truly to be joined in holy matrimony in the chapel on the thirtieth? _I smile and curtsy, numb. _But what are you doing? We already know one another - _and then I understand. None of them, with the exception of Mary and Libby, know we are in love, and even they does not know of our nights together. To them, we are two strangers meeting for the first time. We must act innocent, as if this is our first meeting.

'It is a joy to meet you, Sir George.' I say, and I think he knows that I am playing along with the charade.

'You are to be at the chapel on the thirtieth at twelve o'clock sharp.' instructs Father. 'Sir Thomas and I-' he gestures to his colleague besides him. 'have planned it all. Before that, you will not speak to one another and are to take most of your meals in private. Catherine, the Duchess will be arriving within a day to organize what is yet to be done. You both are ordered not to interfere.'

We dip our heads in obedience. 'Good.' Father says. 'You are all dismissed. Mary and Elizabeth, escort the pair to their separate accommodation.'

We curtsy and bow and leave the study. As we go down the corridor we hear the study door slam shut, and with a glance at our sisters George pulls me aside into a dark corner. Mary and Libby stand guard.

'I had no idea.' I breathe. 'George, I'm so happy.'

'I am too.' George says. 'I was told late last week and I was rather shocked that luck was on our side. Father thinks I am just happy of the position and all of that, but really - I'm thrilled about _us. _We won't be succumbed to meeting in secret, talking in whispers.'

'God has answered our prayers.'

'But now, we must act innocent.' his voice changes and he becomes serious. 'We must give nothing away. We do not know each other and before now we have never spoken nor looked at one another. We are both aware that this is arranged - therefore, I have to act like a cad boasting about my new wealth and you-'

'I will act unhappy. I will complain that I do not want to marry you. I will say I am too young and will be trapped in a loveless marriage.'

'You should be an actress, Cat.' George praises, planting a light kiss on my forehead. 'So, until the thirtieth, I bid you good day, future wife.'

'Good day, future husband.'

We emerge out of the shadows and beam at our company, and then he goes down one corridor to the King's apartments and me to the other, to the Queen's, and I dwell on the thought that in just over a week I will no longer be Catherine Percy but Catherine Boleyn for the rest of my evening.

**A/N: OK, I need to say that I had a BIG think about this chapter. I know you all wanted to know who Cat was marrying but I was actually doubting whether my orginal plan of her and George would be good enough. I'm not usually like that. I stuck to it because I believe that this is how I want the story to go and I do hope no one is disappointed. Hey, at least there's no Jane Parker! Anyway, I'm rambling :) review and tell me if you like it. The next one is the wedding - I'm looking forward to that one LOADS. And a bit more Anne, I should think. x**


	8. Husband and Wife

**A/N: The fluffiest chapter I've ever written, me thinks. But I love it. I've uploaded photographs of the 'cast' of LOTF plus pics of Cat's wedding dress, earrings and necklace on my profile. Now - may ****I present to you, George Boleyn and Catherine Percy's wedding! Thank you to all who read and review, and to Lady Eleanor Boleyn who suggested bridesmaids! Enjoy.x**

* * *

><p><strong>VIII - Husband and Wife.<strong>

**30th**** April 1522, Richmond Palace, London, England.**

Mother arrived on time, full of airs and graces, ready to work. I became a soldier training for war, obeying her every command. Materials flooded in; velvets, silks, satins, taffetas, even cloth-of-gold. A fine seamstress was brought in to begin my gown. I received notice that George and his father had received a grant of manor houses in Kent. They were an eighteenth birthday gift for my husband-to-be, who's day passed on the twenty-fourth. Not only that was given, but two days later, four left until my nuptials, Libby came to see me.

'How is he?' I whispered. I had been forbidden to speak of George until I was wed.

'Well. He sends greetings,' my sister reported. 'and the knowledge that you have a house!'

'A house?'

'Yes! The King has given you Grimston Manor in Norfolk as a wedding gift!'

_A manor house. Me, the owner of a manor house! _Silly me felt so proud. But my future did not heal my wounds; I longed for George's touch. My lips craved his kisses, my hips yearned for his gentle rubs and my hands were hankering for his slender fingers. I hated sleeping alone and my only comfort was that I wouldn't have to when the thirtieth arrived.

.*.

'Up! Catherine Percy, get up!' Mother screeches in my ears.

I drag myself out of bed. Mother is stood by the door, her hair immaculately pinned back, huge dewdrop emeralds hanging from her earlobes and throat, gowned in aquamarine taffeta. 'Today is your wedding day, child.' she states the obvious. 'They'll be no slacking.'

'What time is it?' I moan sleepily, stretching.

'Six sharp. It would be earlier if your sister hadn't begged for you.'

_Good old Libby. _I think, as Mary Carey, Mary Talbot and sister Libby come in and instruct two scullions to pull a large tin bathtub in the centre of the room. The boys fill it to the brim with hot water, line the tub with linen sheets, and scent it with lilac oil. I bathe like a Queen, my ladies scrubbing me until I look like a lobster.

'You are going to a beautiful bride, Cat!' exclaims Libby as she files my fingernails.

I blush. 'A blushing bride!' cries Mary Talbot, washing my hair. Mary Carey drags a toothbrush over my teeth and then hauls me up. My three friends pat me dry with towels whilst my mother inspects.

'Stand tall.' she orders. 'Back straight.' she steps back. 'Your hips are not as wide as I would have liked, nor your chest, but you will do.'

When Libby finishes rubbing my hair with black cloth soaked in oil (to give colour and shine, apparently), I step out of the tub and wrap myself in a cloth while the two Mary's and Mother fetch my bridal gown. 'Are you nervous?' Libby asks quietly, sitting next to me on the single bed I will no longer sleep in.

I nod and smile weakly. 'Oh, Libby,' I grab her hands. 'I'm so, so glad it's George!'

She grins. 'I knew you would be. When Mother told me - the whole reason I had to go to Alnwick was so they could concentrate on your match - I was overjoyed for you! It was perfect, perfect fate. Oh, Cat,' we hug quickly. 'I'm so glad that it's him I lose you to!'

'You won't lose me, Libby.' I promise solemnly. 'I swear. I might be married, and please God I might be a mother, but I will always be your sister. _Nothing _could make me not.'

There are tears in her eyes, little stars twinkling on the skin touching her eyes. 'The Percy girls,' she says familiarly. Our old oath, said every Easter, birthday and Christmas. I place my hand on hers like we also did, and squeeze gently. 'Until the end of time.' I recite.

Then, Mother puts her head round the door. 'Silly little girls.' she murmurs, flinging the door open and stalking away. The two Mary's come in, carefully carrying my dress. It is creaseless white satin, with the bodice and skirt embroidered in gold flower embroidery. When they dress me in the layers, I feel beautiful. This is a dress _any _girl could feel pretty in.

Mary Carey sits me down and sets to work brushing my hair, slowly to take out all the knots. My hair flows in waves just over my shoulders. 'Very pretty.' praises Mary Talbot. But the smile on the latter's face fades when there is a rap on the door, and my brothers sneak in.

'Ah, my betrothed.' Henry says, a snip of irritation in his voice. 'I'm afraid I haven't come to see you, but my sister. Please forgive me.'

Ingelram bursts into childish boy laughter, slapping the knee of his hose which is red velvet. All my brothers are dressed the same. Behind Harry and Ingelram is Thomas, who slowly approaches me. My twin looks slightly shocked to see me. 'You look…nice.' he says.

'Is that all?' I say, hands on hips playfully.

He blushes. My brother _blushing_! 'No, really, you look nice. George is a lucky man.' he says, hugging me. 'My twin sister getting married. How scary. It seems like just yesterday we were fresh out of Mother. She was so mad that she had a boy _and _a girl and not two sons! Aye, she must be eating her words now.'

'Oh, Tom.' I laugh. 'Charming old Tom. One day, this will be you, dressed in your wedding doublet!'

'Never!' my twin vows. 'I shall be a bachelor forever. Just you watch.'

'So, is this it?' asks Ingelram, drawing us five Percy together. 'The end of the Percy Five? Do we lose you now, Cat, forever?'

'Like I said to Libby, not now, not in a million years. I'll just wear a ring on my finger.'

'Pray to the Lord I never get _that_ far.' mutters Harry with a backward glance at his betrothed, who stands with Mary Carey away from us.

'Let us leave the women to do their work.' Thomas dictates loudly. 'We men shall go have a pre-nuptial drink!' My brothers hurrah and strut out of the room, blowing kisses to us.

The two Mary's come forward to Libby and I, holding two boxes. 'This one,' says Mary Carey, gesturing to the one in her hands. 'is from us Boleyns, and that one' she looks at the one with Mary Talbot. 'is from your family.'

They open them, and I gasp. In the first one, from the Boleyns, is a pair of earrings; attached to gold-pleated flower earring posts is a oval-shape ruby, and from that a large pearl teardrop. Mary gives me a moment to marvel them before securing them on my lopes. Mary Talbot opens her box, and inside that is a stunning necklace; hung on two gold chains is a gold pendant. Ten tiny pearls surround one large one. Then, hanging on the end, is a teardrop pearl. Mary secures the clasp around my neck.

'Sorry! Am I late?' Anne comes rushing into the room, much less the sophisticated young woman she was when we first met. We have not known each other as long as Mary and I have, but I like her. 'Not at all.' I reassure her.

She grins. 'You look _chic!_' she praises. The last piece of the puzzle is put into place when she hands me a bouquet of white and pale pink blooms. All four of them look at me and I look at them. My four bridesmaids are dressed in pale pink silk with white embroidery on the bodice, and simple pearls in their ears and around their wrists.

'You all look delightful.' I say.

'Oh, never mind about us!' Anne dismisses my compliment. 'We need to get you to the chapel - everyone wants to see the bride!' she giggles. 'George says if you don't hurry up he'll-'

'Don't!' Mary halts her. 'Cat can't hear anything about George without blushing, and it took so long to get her cheeks white it felt like a century had passed. Save it for the toasts, when you can embarrass him.'

Anne nods, considering the prospect, while the two Mary's smooth their skirts and we begin to walk from the chamber to the chapel. It isn't a long walk, and the sky is a pleasant spring blue and the sun shines from the window glass. A perfect day to wed. We gather outside the chapel, where Father and my brothers stand waiting for me.

'Oh, Cat,' Father says. 'You look lovely.'

'Thank you, my Lord.' I say, hooking my arm through his.

My brothers look at the final result. 'Tom,' I tag on my twin's sleeve as the three boys go down the aisle and to the Percy pew. 'Tell George not to look at me. I'll blush, and it'll ruin the effect.'

'Anything for you.' he pecks my cheek, but I still cling to his sleeve. 'Say I didn't ask, it was Mary.' I add. I release him and he struts away and signals for Thomas Talis to begin a stately march on the organ. Libby throws a veil that shimmers over me and then takes her position besides Mary Talbot and behind the Boleyn girls. We hear our cue, and slowly tread down the aisle. Tom must have told George, because he does not look back. He stands out like a swan against the red drapes, his luscious wavy hair capped. My heart thumps.

Father and I reach the alter, and George takes my hand from my father. I do not look. But I want to desperately - in fact, I want to lean over and kiss him. But I daren't. George and I kneel on cushions, keeping our faces as solemn as possible, and the service begins.

It takes an age before I feel the cool weight of the wedding ring on my finger, and even longer before I hear George say, 'I do'. I do the same, as calmly as I can, and allow my husband to raise me from my knees. His fingertips raise my veil. George hesitates for a moment, either part of our innocent charade or because this is our first public kiss. Yearning for his touch, I raise my eyes to meet his, and hope this indicates my permission.

It is perfect. We bring our heads together - me a little reluctant - and our lips meet. The first second is sweet, but our passion flows out of us then and I am taken aback by his ardour, and my own fervour in return. The colour heats my cheeks. As we finally break apart from one another, the crowd cheers and my bridesmaids cluster around me. I meet my new husband's gaze and feel myself be eloped with a new glow. Happiness, I think.

We walk down the aisle.

I am Lady Catherine Boleyn, a married woman.


End file.
